


She Devils, Singles, and Lumberjacks

by noviceliterati



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, F/F, First Meeting, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, M/M, Med Student Stiles, One Shot, cocky derek, singles mixers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:05:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7095778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noviceliterati/pseuds/noviceliterati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lydia asks him to accompany her to a singles night in exchange for  her help, Stiles reluctantly agrees, but little does he know he's bitten off way more than he can chew...</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Devils, Singles, and Lumberjacks

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely readers - I'd like to apologise for the delay in updating my fic Rage Rage Against the Dying of the Light. RL has been a tad crazy this past month, but I assure you that I do intend to finish the fic and hope to update soon. In lieu of that, I offer this piece of fluff that practically wrote itself this evening. Unusually for me no angst - just simple, fluffy, kinda dirty fun.
> 
> Rated M just in case but nothing obscenely dirty. 
> 
> Enjoy and apologies for any errors. This fic is not beta read so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Happy reading folks :-)
> 
> P.S I'm terrible at tagging so let me know if anything should be added.

No." 

The strawberry blonde devil ignored him and clicked open a small silver compact to reapply another coat of crimson lipstick to her already plump lips. 

"Lydia, are you listening to me? I said no." 

Lydia pursed her lips to even out her lipstick before finally turning to look at him with a sadistic smile and an arched brow. 

"Ok." 

Stiles adjusted his glasses and narrowed his eyes as she continued to watch him with that evil smile still plastered to her face. 

"Ok?" he asked, suspicious but nonetheless pathetically hopeful the little she devil meant it. 

"Ok," she repeated with a delicate shrug of her shoulders. "If you want to leave then leave, Stiles. I'm not going to force you to stay. It's just a shame, I thought you wanted to pass Finstock's class. Oh well." 

Fucking crap on a shit stick!! Lydia brushed past him and returned to the crowded bar behind him. The bar that was currently filled to capacity with the desperate, lost souls of dozens upon dozens of lonely singles.  
"Ok everybody, if you'll gather round we're about to start." Cursing the little red headed genius that had dragged him to this hell hole, he reluctantly made his way back to the bar and stood beside a sweaty, balding man dressed in a fitted green jumper, who looked as though he was about to pass out. 

Lydia smiled sweetly at him from where she was perched next to a group of women, and he closed his eyes and counted to ten. Once the homicidal rage had passed, he finally tuned back in to hear the perky blonde hostess outlining the rules for tonight. 

"Ok guys and gals," she smiled, "for those of you new to the scene, the women will each take a table and the men will have 3 minutes at each table to try and make a luuurrve connection," she said to the nervous crowd, wiggling her eyebrows in a ridiculous fashion. 

Lydia coughed and covered her mouth with a napkin. Stiles gritted his teeth and glared daggers at the little red headed witch.

"Then the bell rings and the men move to the next table," continued the hostess before handing out cards and pencils. "You each write your preference or preferences on the card and if you match, we pass along contact information so that your journey to true love can begin. Right ladies, please select a table and take a seat. Gentleman, once the ladies are seated my colleague will show you to your first table. I hope you're all ready to be stung by Cupid's arrow!" The hostess clapped her hands together like a five year old at Disneyland and Stiles reigned in the urge to slam his head against the black granite of the bar. 

Fucking Finstock with his ridiculously difficult Genetics papers! If the completion of his medical degree wasn't dependant on passing the lunatic's class, he would have told the she devil, aka Finstock's golden girl and Genetics savant, Lydia Martin to fuck off when this ridiculous speed dating evening had initially been proposed. But alas, given that the successful completion of his degree was in fact dependant on him getting a damn good grade in Finstock's class, he'd merely nodded and grunted his acquiescence when she'd instructed him where to meet tonight.

He was drawn from his thoughts when the sweaty, balding guy beside him nudged his arm. 

"Yeah?" 

The man directed his attention to Lydia, who was currently sipping a huge glass of red wine, and calling him over with a little wave of her manicured fingers. Rolling his eyes at her theatrics, he plucked the front of his tight blue shirt in an effort to loosen it (where the hell had Lydia even found a shirt this tight?! Gap kids?!!) and walked over to the flame haired witch. 

"What?" he asked tersely, ignoring the obvious once over he was receiving from a brunette at the bar. Lydia took another slow sip of wine before she deigned to answer him, and once again he had to remind himself how disappointed his father - the Sheriff - would be if he was arrested for homicide.

"I found the one I want." 

Stiles smiled for the first time that day and clapped his hands together in a poor imitation of the perky hostess. 

"That's great! I'm so happy for you! Go get him! So, I'll just leave you to it and we can meet up next week to go over that paper. Great, well it's been awesome, good luck, I'll just-"

"Who said anything about leaving?" 

"Lydiaaaaaa," he whined, pouting like a 2 year old and stomping his feet in frustration. He saw her roll her eyes at him, but dammit he didn't care! He wanted to go home and study for his Physiology paper next week or y'know...maybe marathon Season 2 of Daredevil -whatever - not be forced to sit in a small, dimly lit room and make fake, boring, crappy small talk with a bunch of strangers. Dammit Lydia!

"Please Lydia, I'm begging you, let me go. I'll do anything you want, anyt- hey! Uh, how about I take over tutoring Greenburg? You hate doing that! I'll totally do it, yeah? Lydia? Lydia!" 

Lydia tossed her loose curls over her shoulder and shook her head. 

"That won't be necessary, I have Greenburg under control. Poor thing, sweet as a cupcake but dumb as a pile of bricks. No, what I want is for you to sit your annoyingly pert bubble butt down at table 9 and not move until I tell you to. I don't want anyone else getting their hands on...all that," she said in an admiring tone as she looked behind him. 

Stiles almost threw a serious, no holds barred tantrum, but quickly shut his mouth when she fixed a terrifying gaze on him. 

"Move along, Stilinski," she told him, waving him off with a glare. Frustrated, he scrubbed a hand through his hair and grimaced when he realised he'd just messed up the 'artfully tousled, just fucked' look Lydia had spent 25 minutes perfecting. 25 minutes. On his hair. Jesus Christ. 

Deftly dodging the equally perky co-host, he walked the short distance to table nine and plonked himself down in the empty seat without even looking at the guy sat across from him. Stiles took a deep breath and tried unsuccessfully to stop the embarrassed flush heating his cheeks. 

"I'm not one to judge, but I gotta say, you don't look much like a Kristen." 

Stiles rolled his eyes and huffed. 

"Ha ha ha, a comedian....greeeaaaat" he said facetiously, glaring at Lydia one last time before looking up at his 'date' and freezing. Ho. Ly. Shit.

Little Stiles, who thanks to his immense work load, had been in hibernation since the start of the semester, sprang to life and practically hammered on his zipper demanding to be let out. Stiles licked his lips and swallowed as he tried to take in the wet dream sat before him. Thick, dark hair, angular jaw, hazel eyes, a thick, soft beard that framed an equally soft looking mouth, all topped off with broad shoulders and a muscular chest that strained artfully against the grey tshirt the guy wore. Ho. Ly. Shit. 

"I'm certainly talented with my tongue, I'm not gonna deny that," the dark haired guy said, smiling cheekily and leaning forward to run those green eyes down the length of his body. When those eyes settled on his mouth, Stiles pulled his bottom lip between his teeth nervously and discreetly crossed his legs. Houston, we have a problem. Abort mission. About mission!!

His 'date' smiled and sat back, slinging his arm around the back of his seat causing his already overworked tshirt to stretch tightly across his chest. The grey fabric snagged on the guy's...oookkk and time to look away from the stranger's nipples, Stiles told himself, averting his eyes and trying hard to ignore the smug look on Mr. Nips' face. 

"See something you like, Kristen?" Mr. Nips asked, glancing pointedly at his crossed legs. Stiles wanted to punch him in his stupid gorgeous face.

In an effort to regain some semblance of control over his traitorous body, Stiles thought of the unsexiest thing possible - Finstock, the day he decided wearing bright pink lycra running shorts to class was somehow appropriate - and adjusted his glasses. Feeling little Stiles deflate at that horrific image, he sighed in relief and promised the little guy some alone time with his right hand later on. Stiles looked up at Mr. Nips and gave him an unimpressed once over before uncrossing his legs. 

"I'm not really into lumberjacks, dude, so you can chill. I'm just here to reserve you for a friend," he said, only to have Mr. Nips laugh and scratch his soft looking beard. 

"Firstly, I'm not a lumberjack, though you'd be shocked by how much wood I have to contend with on a daily basis," fuck, Stiles thought, the smug gorgeous bastard was quick, "secondly, I didn't know we were allowed to 'reserve' people. And thirdly, I don't see any 'friend'. I only see you, Freckles." 

Stiles ignored Mr. Nips' mockingly arched eyebrow in favour of asking "Freckles?" in a strangled voice. 

Mr. Nips nodded and leaned forward far enough to run a thick finger across the smattering of moles that dotted his jaw. Stiles felt a blast of heat shoot through him so fast it made his head spin, and quickly slapped the guy's hand away, much to Mr. Nips' amusement. 

"They're moles. Not freckles," he hissed petulantly, knowing his cheeks were bright red but glaring at the smug bastard nonetheless. Mr. Nips shrugged and sat back. 

"Call them what you want, Freckles... I'm just wondering how far down those moles go," said Mr. Nips, voice low and eyes moving from his jaw to his throat to his chest. "That's a nice shirt, by the way, I bet it would look great on my bedroom floor."

What. The. Fuck. 

"What the fuck?!" he spluttered, slightly too loud if the curious faces of the other singles was anything to go by. He saw the perky blonde hostess frown at him for a moment before she was distracted by a trio of women wearing name stickers and disappointed expressions. Mr. Nips smirked at him and dammit! No one should be allowed to look that good smirking! Smug bastard.

"Calm down, Freckles, this wasn't exactly the setting I pictured when I imagined you blushing bright red and screaming for me." 

Annnd...no. Fuck this guy. Little Stiles may have perked up at the salacious images that particular statement had conjured, but big Stiles wanted nothing more than to knock that shit eating grin off of Mr. Nips' face. 

"What makes you think it wouldn't be you screaming for me?," he challenged, resting an ankle on his knee and sitting back in his seat like he owned the fucking place. 

Mr. Nips' eyebrows shot up in surprise for a moment before his green eyes turned dark and predatory. Stiles slowly got up from his seat and leaned forward over the table, palms flat on the table top and back just a little arched because, fuck this gorgeous asshole, that's why. He watched those green eyes follow the long line of his back to his ass and barely kept himself from laughing. Goddamn Lydia Martin may be a tiny, evil menace, but the woman sure knew how to dress his lanky ass, if Mr. Nips' hungry look was anything to go by. 

Stiles leaned over even further until his lips were a hair's breadth from Mr. Nips' and whispered, "but like I said, I'm not into lumberjacks." 

Before Mr. Nips was able to collect himself enough to reply, Stiles straightened and walked away, successfully resisting the urge to look back. He'd just about reached the other end of the bar when the she devil herself accosted him. Lydia dug her painfully sharp nails into his forearm and yanked him over to the corner of the room before loooking at him with an expectant expression. 

"What?"

Lydia sighed wearily and rolled her eyes. "The distractingly attractive girl at table 9 - where did she go?" 

Wait, what?! Girl?

"Wait, what?! Girl?" Dammit, he really had to stop doing that!

Lydia pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. "Yes, Stiles. Hot girl. Table 9. Me send Stiles to keep hot girl at table. Where hot girl go?," she asked slowly, enunciating each word to death and pointing between the two of them. "Tell Lydia now or Stiles future as Doctor go bye bye." Stiles shuddered at the death glare that accompanied that statement and turned back to look across the room to table nine. 

He was expecting to see Mr. Nips' smug, gorgeous, fuckable face but instead found himself staring in confusion at a stunning brunette in a tight blue dress. What the hell?

"Where'd Mr. Nips go?," he mumbled, casting his gaze across the length of the room in hopes of catching sight of - 

"OW! LYDIA! THAT FUCKING HURT," he shouted as he felt a sharp pinch on his upper arm. Lydia glared daggers at him and Stiles felt as though he was staring death in the face. 

"Oh shit! I'm sorry, please don't kill-

"Excuse me?" 

Stiles and Lydia swivelled round to see the beautiful brunette in the tight blue dress standing behind them holding a familiar silver compact in her hand. He heard Lydia sigh beside him and was horrified. He did not want to watch Satan get laid, even if it was with a hot girl in a mouth watering blue dress. The brunette blushed and Stiles pretended to gagg. Lydia nudged him painfully in the side and he coughed out a quick 'excuse me' before all but collapsing against a closed door a few feet away. A door which then fell away behind him, plunging him ass first into a dark room that smelled heavily of lemon pledge. 

"What the he-woah," he yelped as strong hands grabbed him by the arms and hoisted him up against the now closed door. 

"Stranger danger! Strang-" 

Light suddenly flooded the small dusty room and he stopped mid sentence as he found himself crotch to crotch with one horny assed lumberjack. 

"You again? Didn't I say that I wasn't in t-aww fuck!" 

Mr. Nips snaked a muscular thigh between his legs and pushed forward, pressing him harder against the door, and sending sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine. A searing heat latched onto his neck and strong hands slid down his waist to cup his ass and pull him impossibly closer until all he could see was curl after curl of thick, dark hair. The mouth at his neck trailed up his jaw across to his ear where, for a moment, all he heard was the Mr. Nips' laboured breathing. 

"And didn't I tell you that I wasn't a lumberjack?" 

Stiles barely had time to process the words before his leg was hitched up to curl around a trim, solid waist and a mouth that tasted of limes was crushed against his lips. Feeling a familiar heat begin to ignite in his belly, Stiles fisted his hands into that deliciously thick, black hair and angled his head to deepen the kiss. He felt more than heard Mr. Nips moan into his mouth, and shuddered as a delectable wave of pleasure rolled over him. The kissing became more frenzied as Mr. Nips continued to grind against him, until eventually it became less kissing and more panting into each other's mouths. 

"Oh...fuuuck...ahh," one of them gasped at a particularly savage thrust. Just as Stiles felt that blinding heat of orgasm begin to bubble over, Mr. Nips angled his head low and tucked his mouth firmly against Stiles' pulse point. It was in the millisecond before he screamed out in ecstasy (and dammit all to hell wasn't that embarrassing) that Mr. Nips bit down on his neck and followed him into orgasm, hips thrusting erratically against Stiles'. The edge of pain only heightened his pleasure, and Stiles found himself trembling as another wave of heat washed over him. 

"Holy. Fuck." 

Mr. Nips laughed against his neck and he pulled away squirming as the guy's beard tickled the sensitive skin of his neck. Cocky, gorgeous Mr. Nips gently pulled back but not before giving him a chaste peck on the lips. Well. Huh. Fuck. 

"You wanna get out of here and grab a bite to eat?" 

Stiles stared at Mr. Nips' pretty face, still kinda dazed, and nodded. The green eyed wet dream (ugh, literally - God he hated cleaning cum out of his jeans) grinned before bending down to retrieve his glasses from the floor. Huh. When the hell did those get knocked off, he thought, reaching out to grab them from Mr. Nips' hands. Mr. Nips, who shook his head and pulled his hands away, only to move forward a moment later and slide the glasses gently into place. 

"T-Thanks," he stammered, for some crazy reason feeling shy. Jesus, he needed help. 

Mr. Nips - Stiles stopped mid thought and frowned before blurting out "dude, what the hell is your name? Because I refuse to keep mentally referring to you as Mr. Nips." 

Mr. Nips looked bemused for a moment before smirking and pressing forward again. 

"Knew you were looking," he whispered before taking Stiles' mouth in a kiss so primal, that he, hand to God, felt his knees buckle. 

"Holy. Fuck. Dude," he breathed out when Mr. Nips finally pulled back. 

"You already said that. Dude," mocked Mr. Nips as he trailed his thumb across Stiles' swollen lips. 

Stiles dropped his head back against the closed door and tried to catch his breath. "Bears repeating. Dude." 

"So...dinner?" Mr. Nips muttered against the hinge of his jaw as Stiles tried to coax little Stiles back to sleep. Seriously, they had to leave the janitors closet at some point. Right? Right. Right? Dammit Stiles! He reluctantly pushed the mass of muscle off of him and tried to adjust his clothing in a way that didn't scream 'I just came so hard I think I saw the fucking devil'. Once somewhat satisfied with his clothing, he looked up at the unfairly attractive lumberjack leaning against the opposite wall and narrowed his eyes. 

"Name first." 

"Derek. You?" 

"Stiles. Don't ask," he said rolling his eyes when he saw the look of 'weird name' flash across Mr. N - Derek's face. Derek shrugged and Stiles bit his lip as he watched the frankly obscene play of muscle beneath the grey tshirt. 

"You look like you're in the mood for a liquid dinner," said Derek, smirking and folding his hands behind his back to jut out his hips. Fuck. Smug fucking bastard. He didn't know if he wanted to punch him or push him up against the wall and make him beg. 

"You're disgusting," he said instead, sniffing airily and adjusting his glasses. 

Derek's smirk grew filthier. "That wasn't a no." 

Stiles had just opened his mouth to tell the smug fucker to shut his mouth, when for the second time that night, the door behind him fell away leaving him sprawled on the floor. 

"STILES?!" 

"OH MY GOD, DEREK?!" 

Stiles winced at the shrill sound of the scandalised screams and quickly got to his feet, only to find Lydia she devil Martin glaring at him. Great. Juuusst great. Derek stepped up beside him but was quickly yanked away by the brunette in the tight blue dress. Oh god. The whole bar was watching. Shit. 

"Derek! You were only supposed to watch my table for five minutes and then leave, not...y'know," she screamed gesturing vaguely to his...oh my god...damp crotch. 

"Laura!!"

"Don't Laura me! I'm not the one who was caught in cum stained jeans!" 

"OH MY GOD! LAURA!" 

Stiles pursed his lips to surpress his laughter but felt all the blood drain from his face as Lydia moved into his field of vision and descended upon him like a fucking dementor. He could already feel the life being sucked out of him. Expecto patronum. Expec-

"I swear to whatever diety is watching, Stilinski, that if you getting your rocks off somehow prevents me from getting that gorgeous brunettes number, I will make it my mission in life to destroy you. Understood?" 

Stiles squeaked out something he hoped she understood as a 'yes. I'm so sorry. Please don't destroy me' and slowly backed away. He spotted Derek in his peripheral vision and yelled 'RUN!' before bolting down the length of the bar and out the door. He could hear both women issuing death threats behind them but didn't stop until he reached the small Chinese place a block away. Derek tumbled into the take away behind him and caught his eye before both of them fell to the floor laughing. 

A confused looking older woman wearing a stained stained chef's jacket and an irate expression peered over the counter at them and pointed to the menu. 

"No food, no stay in my restaurant," she barked, shaking her head and mumbling in Chinese as they both broke out in laughter again. Stiles pushed off the floor and helped Derek to his feet before apologising to the woman in her native tongue. The woman looked shocked for a moment before breaking out in a wide, toothy smile and striking up a conversation. Stiles conversed with Mrs. Lin for another five minutes and laughed as she walked away with a flirtatious wink in his direction. Damn. He should let Lydia dress him more often.

He turned back to Derek to ask him what he wanted to eat but froze when he noticed the intense focus with which he was being watched. Derek stalked forward and pinned him up against the counter. Stiles tried not to tremble when he felt Derek's heated breath on his lips but found himself clutching onto the counter behind him for dear life as Derek spoke. 

"I think I'm in the mood for a liquid dinner, Stiles." 

Ho. Ly. Shit. 

Goddamit. Now he'd have to buy Lydia a gift.


End file.
